


now we're standing side by side

by lavenderseaslug



Category: The Hour
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug





	now we're standing side by side

The one time they spent the night in Freddie's flat, it was all Lix could do to keep from grimacing. "I know I'm a bit of a mess, but come on, Freddie, this is ridiculous," she said, holding up what looked to be the four day-old remains of coffee grounds.

"Well, at least here, you don't have to worry about impaling yourself on a hairdryer," he shot back even as he leaned in to kiss her smiling mouth.

They woke in the morning, Lix blinking blearily up at him, all sleepiness and long limbs, as he extricated himself from the tangled sheets. They never have breakfast; Lix doesn't _do_ breakfast. She pulls on last night’s clothes and leaves without a hint of shame or regret. He feels lonelier after she’s gone.

\- - - 

There are no mumbled words of passion, no declarations of affection. There are grasping fingers and gasping mouths, piles of clothing nowhere near the bed, but there is nothing spoken between them. They are friends, first and foremost, and this is what they need.

When they are spent, curled into each other on the cramped bed, looking up at the ceiling, the only light in the apartment coming from the moon outside and the bright street lamps, they talk idly of work, of the people they know, soft laughter and quiet chatter.

\- - - 

They never plan it, their nighttime escapades. It’s after a long day, when even whisky can’t compensate for the dull monotony of the work they do, when they think of the times they did something that mattered. An escape from the humdrum was how Lix put it one night, laughing as Freddie kissed her neck.

Though they never plan, there are usually two clean glasses among the detritus of Lix’s apartment, and fresh sheets on her bed. Whether she can tell when the days are going to be bad or these are idiosyncratic habits of cleanliness, Freddie doesn’t ask, just accepts the glass, ice clinking against the sides, and lights a cigarette.

\- - - 

They watch television sometimes - Freddie wants the news, the real, and Lix, more often than not, wants some escapism. “This is all not part of our real lives,” she declares, gesturing between them, “so why should we let the reality of our world infiltrate this?” She makes a good point, Freddie concedes, but rather than admit defeat, he turns to different pursuits as he turns off the screen.

Occasionally, very occasionally, they don’t even make it to the bed, their clothes staying on, the noise from the television lulling them into sleep. Those are the worst nights to wake up from, the most awkward mornings. Lix coughs to stir him from slumber and unceremoniously ejects him from her flat. When they spend the night together, just the two of them in companionable silence, no soft kisses or gentle touches, those are the nights Freddie truly forgets about Bel and Lix truly wonders if he knows what he wants.

\- - - 

It’s not that Lix wants Freddie - working with him enough has taught her that - but she likes the feeling of being wanted, likes the feeling of someone in her bed, someone’s hands in her hair, someone’s fingers at her waist. She thinks it could be anybody, but she also thinks she likes that it’s Freddie.

He feels that he could love her, if he didn’t love Bel. He _does_ love Lix, but in every way except the one that really matters. She is a best friend, and that is really all he could ask for. He thinks of that, when he’s awake at night and can only hear the sound of her breathing next to him, his fingers beating out a light tempo against her skin, clammy from sweat and exertion.

\- - - 

He kisses her, slowly and deeply, her mouth opening to him, one hand pulling him closer, the other fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. There are only three, but they somehow seem infinite and impossible to manage. He pulls away, joining his hands with hers to offer assistance, pulling the shirt up and over his head. She laughs then, low and soft, and he thinks that she is so much more than she shows the world.

His hands go to the buttons on her shirt next, pulling it off her shoulders, following the path of the cloth with his mouth. Her hands burrow into his hair as she tilts her neck, sighing as she feels his lips on her pulse. He smiles against her skin, an imprint that she’ll remember longer than other physical mark he might leave behind.

\- - - 

What it comes down to is that they make each other happy. There are no rules or definitions or conversations, just them, and that is all they really need, in the end. There are long nights where neither sleeps, just an endless stream of thoughts going back and forth between them. There are nights when her head finds a pillow in his shoulder and his arm finds a home around her waist. There are nights with no words, just gentle thrusts and tandem movements until they collapse under the sheets.

There are times when one falls asleep and the other watches the slight movement, up and down, a constant rhythm. There is no purpose, just a quiet monotony and the comfort of someone by their side while the sleep, and someone there when they wake up.


End file.
